


Jigsaw Bits

by QueSeraAwesome



Series: Soulmate AUs [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, different ship in each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to soulmates, are people like fragments? Or just pieces? Are they halves of a whole, or separate entities destined to fit together just right?<br/>I guess everyone's got to find their answer to that. </p><p>Various Soulmate Au's because WHY NOT. Different ship for each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grimmons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ever wonder why we're here?

Life is hard when you grow up with the word “Dick” on your right wrist.

…..

Yeah, there’s not much else Grif has to say about that.

*

Grif’s not an idiot. He’s got _Dick_ on his hand. Simmons’s name is Dick. He’s lazy, but he’s not fucking dumb.

He also knows that Simmons knows his name. And Simmons is basically pathologically unable to lie decently. And Simmons hasn’t said a damn word. There’s no fucking way he’s got _Dexter_ on his hand.

It doesn’t stop him from wishing he did sometimes, though.

*

Grif goes through great pains (as great as pains as he does anything) to make sure nobody on Red Team ever sees his wrist. He doesn’t want to deal with the jeering (Sarge), the teasing/avoiding (Simmons), the cooing (Donut), or the pendejo (Lopez).

So, as soon as Grif realizes that getting hit by the tank, crushed, and then going through major surgery means pretty much any and everyone has ample opportunity, he panics.

Sarge continues listing off all the organs and other assorted bits he got transferred from Simmons, pointing at the stupid cow chart for emphasis.

“Um,” he interrupts. “What about—What about my—” He waves his wrist a little, to avoid saying the words.

“Grif! What’d I tell you!” Sarge shouts. “I told you I didn’t look at your private parts, numskull! That includes your soul thingy. Now get to recoverin’, I want Red Team back to full strength ON THE TRIPLE!”

Then he charges out of the room. Grif wonders if he realizes that it’s not actually possible to recover from major surgery by pure force of will. Especially will he doesn’t have. Grif flops back on the bunk.

*

Dick Simmons was never what his dad wanted him to be. He was so bad at sports he tried to get him put on the girls teams (despite the fact that the girl’s team was actually more competitive). He wanted to be a mathlete. He liked computers more than cars.

He had a boy’s name on his wrist.

*

“Ready weapons!” The asshole slacker shouts, and Simmons panics a little more.

“Grif,” he says, “this looks like it’s it. Listen, there’s something I always wanted to tell you.”

Because he has to tell him now. It doesn’t matter if Grif has his name on his wrist anymore, if he doesn’t there won’t be any time to tease him about it after. This is it. This is really it.

“I have something I wanna say to you too, buddy,” Grif replies.

Simmons breathes a sigh of relief. At least he won’t have to be the one to say it.

“You first.”

And of _course_ what Grif has to say has to do with him being an _asshole_ and nothing to do about his soul mate at all and Simmons is so _pisse_ d (disappointed) he can’t believe it, can’t believe he says—

“I seem to have forgotten. Hey, asshole, can we hurry this up?”

*

When Grif goes over the cliff, Simmons isn’t thinking about what name’s on his wrist. He’s just thinking about not losing hold of it.

He fails.

*

They survive. Somehow they always survive. And maybe at some point Grif gets lazy about covering his wrist. Maybe one day Simmons puts two and two together. Maybe somebody makes a comment, and either or both of them are even worse than usual at laughing it off, maybe the other notices.

Maybe…

Maybe it doesn’t happen for a while. Maybe it happens tomorrow. But when it happens, neither of them will really be that surprised. There will be shouting. There will be “why didn’t you tell me”’s but they both know each other well enough by then to know why, even if it hurts. They’ll get over it, and life will go back much the same as usual. Except more.

After all, your soulmate’s the person you’re supposed to spend your life with. They were already doing a pretty good job of that.


	2. Wash/CT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon Character Death in this one, folks. Read at your own discretion.

“You gonna be okay, man?” York asks, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Wash waves him off, doesn’t otherwise move. He’s sitting on a bench in the locker room, the same place he was when the official news came down the pipeline. His back is bowed, his hands are gripping the visored portion of his helmet, his elbows are on his knees, and all of these things are distant facts because the news came down the pipeline, twelve hours later, he knows now, they were just all told.

CT is dead. Traitor Agent Connecticut is dead. Connie is dead.

York’s obviously reluctant to leave him, but York’s not good with emotion. None of them are, really. People who are good at emotion don’t go into special ops where they’ll be asked to kill lots of people for no other reason then they’re in your way and would kill you first. Connie is _dead_. Eventually, York leaves.

Only then does he really let himself go, curling in on himself, letting the grief and shock twist him on the outside like they are on the inside. He’s screwed up too tight, too folded in on himself to sob, the action caught on all the jagged pieces inside him and unable to escape. The little hitching breaths he manages make him dizzy, make his head spin, but it’s an improvement from the stillness before; the jolt and pressure from forgetting to breathe.

With unsteady hands, Wash takes his glove off. He’s got to look, he’s got to _see_ —

 _Connie_ , in yellow, standing out against the freckles on his skin.

He never even got the nerve to ask her if she had _David_ on her wrist.

He doesn’t even know if Connie was her real name at all.


	3. North/Tex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tex isn’t Allison, and this body she is in doesn’t have anyone’s name on its wrists. And even if she did, she wouldn’t care.

North is a good guy. Or at least he always tries to do the right thing.

There’s an etiquette to living in a universe where your soul mate has been picked out for you, but where you’re unlikely to meet them due to the sheer population and space you have to search through. They’ve got databases and stuff to help people out, but soul mates doesn’t happen for everyone.

The taboo about having sex with or marrying someone whose name isn’t on your wrist died around the time space colonization started, but it’s still considered pretty unthinkable to find your soul mate and then reject them, although it happens (Not everyone deserves the good the universe has picked out for them.) There are all kinds of bad movies and romance novels about what people do when they meet their soul mate, and they’re already married.

Love is hard. Always has been, always will be, North thinks.

He put the pieces together gradually. She’s already told him what she is, when they started this thing. When the time is right, the Director’s going to pay for what he’s done, but they gotta wait for the right time. He knows who Tex is, what she’s based on. And then the Director’s sleeve rides up one day while lecturing him, and he sees that too.

As someone who had the unlucky distinction to learn about his soul mate only after her death, he can kind of understand where the Director’s coming from, even if it’s twisted. Even if it does turn his stomach to think about too hard. At least he doesn’t have any memories of _Lydia_ , whoever she was, to haunt him.

So when he puts the pieces together, he tries to do the right thing. He steps aside, spends less time with Tex. He doesn’t back off the plan, though. Just tries to allow for the space Alpha will eventually end up filling. Tries to be graceful about letting go.

It doesn’t work, because Tex tracks him down after six days of only the occasional run-ins in the hall. No coincidental stops to chat. No arriving at the caf or locker room at similar times, when everyone else has just left. No taking the empty spot next to her in the gym.

“You been avoiding me?” Tex asks, leaning against the doorway to the gym.

They’re the only ones there. He’d chosen a less-populated one on purpose, thought it’d be easier to avoid her path there.

“Um,” he says, lowering his fists from the punching bag.”Hi.”

“Don’t look so pleased to see me,” Tex says, an edge to her voice.

She swaggers into the gym, stands across from him, a challenging slant to her stance. North is distantly aware that he’s in a lot of trouble.

“No,” he says. “I’m …pleased.”

“Oh, I’m super convinced,” Tex snarks back, but she sounds almost…disappointed?

North doesn’t have long to think about that because she takes the last few steps toward him, angry, like she does charging into battle, gets right up in his face and if anyone were around to watch it’d look like she’s threatening him. He’s not convinced she’s not.

“You want out?” Tex asks, tone hushed. “Of the plan?”

“What?” North asks, horrified. “No! No, the plan’s still on. Did you really think I’d just—“

“I didn’t know what you were thinking,” Tex snarls back. “Because you weren’t _talking_ to me.”

“I’m sorry,” North says. God, he was hoping they wouldn’t have to have this conversation. “I just…Look—“

Tex takes off her helmet, throws it on the ground so hard it bounces and grabs him by the collar.

“If you wanna end this thing, I expect you to tell me to my face,” she snarls.

“The Director’s got ‘Allison’ on his wrist,” North says. “I just thought I’d make it easy—"

“I’m not Allison,” Tex says, shaking him roughly. Not nearly as roughly as she could. “I’m an AI construct in a human body that was designed to look like her, but I’m not her.”

She releases him goes to pick up her helmet. The turn of her shoulders away from him makes something inside him seize up.

“I thought you at least would understand that,” she says.

North lets out a long breath. Takes a step toward her, hopes it doesn’t end up costing him.

“But what about Alpha?” North asks, quietly. “Don’t you—“

“We’re still going to save him,” Tex says, voice furious even in undertone. They can’t afford to be overheard. “But we’re getting free of that lunatic. That means we get to make new choices. Forge our own lives, on our own terms.”

She gestures between them.

“This is something I get to choose for myself.”

North ducks his head. He’s felt like an idiot since he saw the Director’s wrist, but now he gets that it was for the wrong reasons. This time, he’s earned it.

“I didn’t want to,” he says. “Avoid you. Just trying to do the right thing.”

“Well, don’t,” Tex snaps, punching him good naturally in the arm. He knows he’s forgiven. “Try and be a little selfish once in a while. It’s good for you.”

He laughs in relief, falls into step with her on her way out of the gym. The back of his glove brushes hers, the most contact they can allow themselves while still in hostile territory.

“I’ll keep that in mind,”

“And quit that ambiguous heroing,” Tex adds. “Fuckin’ talk to people, dumbass.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You better. Asshole.”

“Aww, you do like me after all.”

“Dumbass.”

“Don’t sweet talk me. People will hear.”

North likes the way he can tell just by the way she walks that under that helmet, she’s smiling.

 


End file.
